Ritual
by Demzill
Summary: Everyone was up, forgetting whatever they were doing to wait for the Hawk.


_Sirs and Madam, Director Fury has informed me that Agent Barton will be returning to the tower within the next ten minutes._

JARVIS' monotone British voice rang through Stark Tower, and, not even five seconds later, everyone was up, forgetting whatever they were doing to wait for the Hawk. It had become the ritual when one of the two Agents went on a solo mission.

Although, it was more worry-filled when Clint was involved. The Hawk had no self-preservation, every mission would end in at least several broken bones, and a few cuts and bruises.

They had a formation to their waiting as well. Bruce and Natasha would be at the front. Natasha stood with her arms crossed, expression livid, with Clint, or with whoever Clint had been against, was always unsure until he stepped through the door.

Bruce would toy with his glasses, silently muttering the path from the front door to Stark Tower's personal medical bay, he knew the path by heart, had done it enough, with each one of these people. But he murmured it anyway - left, down the hall, right, second door on the right - because it helped him forget that Clint was now sat in the back of a SHIELD truck bleeding everywhere.

A step behind Bruce and Natasha was Steve. He was the leader, and had been the one to start the waiting ritual. Whenever someone left, even if it was just Stark on a business trip, Steve would be the first to welcome them back, waiting by the door when JARVIS would tell him they were returning. He'd always smile, catch them up on what they'd miss if they were okay. Or helping towards the medical bay while asking JARVIS to get Banner in the early days, if they weren't.

He was glad everyone had decided to join him, it showed more than words could how much they'd grown as a team.

And, finally, leaning against opposite walls a step behind Steve would be Thor and Tony. Thor would have a light frown across his face, chewing almost absent-mindedly on a strawberry pop-tart, his free hand holding a second for the Hawk. After missions, Clint always complained he was hungry, and while it wasn't much, it was (usually) enough to last until Clint was ready for more.

Tony would lean with his arms crossed over his chest, staring up at the ceiling, muttering ideas to himself - does Barton have any smoke arrows? They might be useful - and scribbling reminding phrases on his hands and arms with whatever pen he currently had shoved into his pocket. He tended to focus his ideas on whoever they were waiting for.

And then, a few seconds later, a beep sounded throughout the mostly empty hall, all eyes shifting to the elevator door as it opened, and Clint stepped out.

"Hey, gang." the Archer greeted, hand pressed to his right shoulder where blood was slowly leaking free. Everyone quickly switched into 'action' mode. Bruce and Natasha stepped forwards, Natasha swatting Clint's hand away so the pair could shuffle around Barton, cataloging his visible injuries so the other's could hear.

Thor and Steve would stand almost shoulder to shoulder, ready to help manhandle Clint towards the medical bay if need be and Thor would sneak Clint pieces of pop-tart when everyone apart from Tony wasn't looking. Clint would snicker around pop-tart at the frowns and glares Steve, Bruce and Natasha would send the demi-god's way while Tony would help, distracting Steve with his usual quips, sometimes sending one the Hawk's way.

"Hey, Katniss. Maybe you should try, oh, I don't know, not jumping off rooftops. Who'd ya' think you are? Spiderman? You need stronger grapple-arrows or something? I'll get working on some later." Tony would almost huff, arms still crossed over his chest, peering at Clint out the corner of his eye, lips down-turned into the tiniest frown of concern.

Clint would just grin and listen, shifting with a hidden wince as Steve and Thor would step forwards, each taking an arm around their shoulders and shuffling towards medical, Steve giving a soft smile as he told the Archer what he'd missed and Bruce would mutter the injuries and the safest ways to fix them to himself.

Clint's grin would just widen, it was good to be home.


End file.
